


This Beast Inside Me

by Ballroom_of_the_Damned_and_Delirious



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Thor - Freeform, Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballroom_of_the_Damned_and_Delirious/pseuds/Ballroom_of_the_Damned_and_Delirious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains Thor: Dark World spoilers, so if you haven't seen it...</p><p>Eilif Eisdótter comes from across the sea, escaping from a past she barely remembers, to serve at Odin's court. She very soon discovers that it is not Odin she has come to serve, but a power-hungry Jotun disguised as the esteemed king of Asgard. </p><p>Happens Post-Thor: Dark World. Will use Marvel characters but I will for the most part build the world upon Norse mythology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man-Who-was-Not-Odin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which are heroine discovers a secret, but she does not know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference,"Eilif" is more or less pronounced as eh-ee-lif. The phonetic pronunciation being [ɜi lif'], though of course what it sounds more like out loud is "Ay-lif" which is also fine. :)

"Eilif, come get this pitcher, girl!" She heard the scream from one of the many vast kitchens and she swept up her skirts and sped down the corridor. When she reached the doorway she stopped just outside to lean against the wall a bit and breathe deeply, winded. 

"I need to get in better shape," she gasped as she tried to compose herself. When she thought herself capable of good carriage, Eilif walked slowly into the room where the sparkling pitchers gleamed with water and ice, ready to be transported to their myriad destinations. When Edda, Frigga's erstwhile lady's maid, saw the state of Eilif's attire she gasped and grumbled to herself as she set about dusting off and primping Eilif's plain green workdress. 

"You can't serve King Odin like that," she mumbled grumpily, and Eilif's eyes widened. She thought service to the royal family had been reserved for those servants in loftier positions, but at her query Edda just grunted. Finally she looked Eilif up and down. "Not the best, but it will do," she muttered, and nodded, looking up at Eilif, -being a head shorter than her very junior employee- not unkindly, "Many of our fellows died in the attacks these past weeks, so you must take up some duties you may not be ready for. I would, but I am needed here." Edda looked around herself, huffing at all the work that still needed to be done. Eilif didn't see any, but she was not of high enough position to know how exactly how a palace should be run.

"Yes'm," Eilif said quietly, bobbing a small curtsy as Edda handed her the pitcher. 

"In the throne room, Eilif. When you arrive, make sure there are no counsels happening before you barge in. It is not your place to interrupt the conversations of royals. We must not exist to them," Edda commanded all of this briskly, and gave Eilif's shoulders a dust once more." Now, stand up straight and walk with pride in your work. Just because you're in service doesn't mean you can't be worthy of royalty. Now go!"

Eilif went, walking slowly, tray with crystal drinkware in both hands. The closer she came to the throne room the more nervous she became. She pulled in a few deep breaths and strode confidently toward the entrance, muttering, "Like royalty. Like royalty," several times. She stopped just short, seeing two people in the room, and quickly popped back to the edge of the door so they couldn't see her. She hadn't meant to listen. She really hadn't, but their words drifted to her ears anyway...

"Is this to be my legacy?" It took her a second to realize that was Odin's voice. Despite working in the palace, she had only heard him speak at public events, and never in such close proximity. He sounded gruff and sorrowful, and she naturally leaned forward, though she knew she probably shouldn't.

Next came Thor's voice. She knew that voice, because Thor was a little more free-roaming, with way less duties than his kingly father. "Loki died with honour." Words too quiet to hear. "Let THAT be your legacy." 

The power in his voice made her dizzy, so unlike Odin's sad, tired tones: "I cannot give you my blessing, nor can I wish you good luck. Even if I could, it could only come from my heart. Go." Eilif sucked in breath. She did not know of what they were speaking, but Loki apparently died and Thor apparently would part ways from his father. This sounded like a tragic story, but the next thing she heard confused her: "It is yours, if you are worthy enough to weild it." What did that mean? 

"I shall try to be. Thank you," Thor answered, and Eilif heard his footsteps near her as he must be approaching the exit. She gasped quietly and ducked further into the shadow outside the door, hoping he would not turn his head to the right, or he would surely see her. Alas, he seemed to be staring at the hammer in his hand, the legendary Mjolnir, and not paying any mind to the world around him. That much be what Odin had been referring to. 

Further murmering from inside and she waited a second longer. There seemed to be no movement from Odin and she needed to get the water pitcher into the throne room. She needed to report back to Edda posthaste. Head down, eyes to her shoes, she determinedly shuffled into the room, looking up only enough to ascertain her destination.

She felt his gaze upon her, and glanced up quickly, and 

"AGH!" The tray fell on the floor, crystal shattering and flying in all directions. Some of it hit her legs, and she could feel every cut as the sharp crystal sprayed where her dress didn't quite cover. She paid very little attention to this, though she did cringe a bit from the impact and the noise. All she could do was to stare at Odin's throne with wide eyes. She had never been close to Odin, but she at least knew what he looked like, and this dark figure was not he.

She stared up at a man she didn't quite recognize: long, dark hair; blue-green eyes sort of like the sea on a calm, sunny day; a long thin face that looked very travel-worn and regarded her with amusement and a smirk which didn't quite touch his eyes. Eilif thought she may have seen him somewhere before, but she was more confused as to whether it was Odin talking to his son or this stranger. She had been quite sure it was Odin's voice, and was doubly sure when the strange man opened his mouth to speak.

"Are you going to clean that up?" The arrogance of his voice made her shiver, but suddenly she was reminded of who she was. Subservient, no matter who was sitting the throne.

Eilif stared in dismay at the mess around her, and only then did she notice blood from all the shallow cuts on her legs. Blood had never troubled her, but she didn't leave home to become a servant for nothing. The memories the sight brought back made her stomach turn, and she nodded up to the man on the throne and turned on her heel to fetch a broom...or a washcloth...or a wastebag...or something that was not in the room.

She stopped briefly outside the door, gasping for breath (yet again). She would have to puzzle out the mystery of the man-who-was-not-Odin at a later time. Now she needed to focus on not losing her breakfast and on cleaning up the throne room before Edda had time to notice the mess she made. Trying to keep only that mission in mind, Eilif nearly flew down the hall in her haste to fetch the broom.

When she returned, he was still there. It was as if he were awaiting her return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would leave a comment, please be specific. These fanfictions are practice for my writing, and I would like to know what I do well and what I'm doing wrong. Thank you! I appreciate it!


	2. Kissed by Ice and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine is burnt.

He knew not why he awaited her return. Perhaps to confuse her, perhaps to intimidate a person from on high for the first time in his forsaken life. Whatever the reason, he sat and waited patiently. Loki did not mind that this servant saw him, for she seemed dim-witted and not at all alarmed that it was he and not Odin on the throne. 

What had she thought? That Odin was dead and Loki his successor? She had to have seen Thor walk seriously (way too seriously, in Loki's esteemed opinion) out of the throne room, and everyone knew Thor. Once Loki might have been envious of his "brother," but through clever tricks and deceit he now sat the throne, so he merely chuckled at the irony that everyone knew Thor but no one knew their true king. 

Loki would be Odin a little while longer. He had not yet decided how he would become the true king, recognized throughout Asgard and the nine realms as Loki, king of Asgard, who happened to be Jotun as opposed to Aesir, the traditional inhabitants and rulers of all the nine realms beneath them. 

He watched the serving girl sweep back into the room with a wastebag and broom, still thinking on his rule. He would use his newfound powers as Odin to tear down the defenses between Asgard and the other realms, including Jotunheim, allowing all creatures the Aesir and Asynjur thought were baser rise the way he knew he would rise. They would worship him as a king and a god and he could finally dispense with his mask, becoming Loki in truth. 

He watched her sweep up the broken crystal and smiled. She could make a fine bedfellow, if only he could coax her into his chambers...Odin's (former) chambers. Briefly he thought of the way her light sky blue eyes gazed up at him. They were a little far apart and so wide he felt they might consume him. Her nose turned up a little at the tip and her lips were pale and thin, so it seemed rather impressive the way they disappeared as she pressed them together when she noticed that she had dropped her tray...after she had her fill of gazing up at him, of course. She had been touched by ice, it seemed, as her hair was coloured white, almost shining blue in the light from the windows. She must have inherited that icy colour, as she seemed far too young to have that hair from old age. She lifted her skirts a little with one hand as she swept crystal into a pan with the other, and he saw the red streaks from the cuts marring her winter-white legs. 

Kissed by ice. 

He had never seen anything quite like it. 

Perhaps she had sensed him staring at her, because when she finished with her task instead of sweeping off as abruptly as she had come she stared up at him. Once again her eyes were wide, and he had cause to wonder if that were her natural state or if she was thinking very hard about him. Perhaps he was a puzzle to her. Surely she had heard Odin's voice coming from the throne. Loki had seen the flash of green that was her skirt before she ducked behind the door. To hear his voice in contrast after she entered must have been a shock, not to mention the fact that he actually looked absolutely nothing like his erstwhile "father." 

From her gaze, though, she did not know him, and must have known it impertinent to address anyone sitting the throne without first being so addressed. He smiled a bit at that: this serving wench knew him to not be Odin and yet held her tongue anyway. Perhaps she thought Odin, too, perished in the war with the dark elves, and perhaps she also assumed that Thor had relinquished the throne. Perhaps she even knew his name, but it was difficult for her to connect his name with his face. Being in a dungeon cell for years on end will do that to you: make you unrecognizable to those who should worship you. 

He stood, staring imperiously down at her. To her great credit, and Loki's great annoyance, she made no sign that he in any way intimidated her. His fingertips sparked his irritation, but again to her credit she only gave the spark of electricity at his fingertips the barest of glances before her eyes were back on his face, the gears in her mind turning. She knew something was amiss. 

"What is your name?" She shook her head, as if only just realizing they were in the same room. 

"My name?" 

"Your name, girl. Your name," he affirmed, impatiently. She had the good sense and grace to then look at her feet as she whispered a word he could not hear. He leaned his ear toward her, possibly exaggerating the gesture more than necessary, and proclaimed, "I'm sorry. I did not hear you." 

This time she looked up again and answered distinctly, "Eilif. My name is Elif." 

"Eilif," he rolled it around on his tongue. "Have you a second name?" 

She fidgeted a little as he waited for an answer. This made him smug: at least he made her feel a bit discomfited by his presence. Loki punctuated the silence with an impatient, "Well?"

"Eisdótter. I am Eilif Eisdótter." With her full name proclaimed she stood a little prouder, as if daring him to protest.

At the sound of her name he eyed her carefully. "Eisdótter? Daughter of Eir? Where, may I ask, are you from? Is Eir your mother or your father?" He had to tread lightly with this one, after all. Who knew who she might be? Who Eir might be? A common enough name, people name sons and daughters after gods and goddesses all the time, but the name of a Valkyrie strikes fear in the soul of any man who would see battle.

She tilted her head at him curiously, and unconsciously rubbed her hands as she regarded him. More patiently this time, he waited with bated breath for her answer. He waited for so long he almost felt disappointed when she admitted, "I do not know my mother or father. I come from Gioll across the sea, made the voyage here to seek work."

He deflated a bit, such was his readiness to kill her if she admitted to a Valkyrie lineage. He could not have those witches cursing his plans for retribution and domination. "Go," he commanded, and she straightened her posture as if affronted. He cared not. He swept his hand toward the door in dismissal.

Eilif Eisdótter dropped into a stiff curtsy before she turned and began to exit the room.

"Oh, before you go," Loki drawled, sounding almost bored now. She turned to face him, and he stood in front of her in an instant. He could see with satisfaction that his use of magic to move to his position before her made her visibly shaken, and stowed that away in his memory. 

"Y-yes, my lord?" She stammered, trying to fix her voice in those three words.

"Your grace will do," he answered lazily, and waited for her to repeat it.

Her lips had formed a flat line, as they first had when she became frustrated at dropping her tray. Finally she closed her eyes as if for patience and said, "Yes, your grace?"

Eilif still looked shaken and nervous, but at his sign of arrogance she endeavoured to draw herself up again, every bit a lady...though they both new she just was a lowly servant.

"If you tell anyone you saw a person matching my description here today," he started, and bent down to whisper in her ear, "I will kill you." 

He stood proud above her, and if it were possible Eilif's eyes became wider. Loki took up her hand gently and placed a kiss on the knuckles, making her pull it back as she cried out with pain. _Not surprising,_ he thought as he gazed at the red welt rising on her hand, _Now she's been kissed by fire, too._ Her eyes briefly filled with terror. With a dismissing nod from him, she fled, cleaning supplies bundled awkwardly in her arms. 

He watched her for a brief moment before she turned the corner outside the door, satisfied that he finally had scared just a little part of her...or even a big part of her. Others' fear made him powerful, and he smirked at the memory of her skirts swirling around her petite winter-white figure as she ran from the throne room. He would have to be wary of her, though she seemed to believe his threat.

Resuming his guise of Odin once again, he summoned a steward, and told that steward to notify Tyr, the fiercely loyal war commander, that Odin needed him immediately. As the steward left to do his bidding, Loki-Odin sat back and plotted, grinning wickedly.


	3. The Stench of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine smells something rather foul.

Cringing, Eilif lay her hands to her legs, and closed her eyes. She hummed a short lullaby, infusing her hands with the spirit of the words. Opening her eyes, she watched as the cuts on her legs melted away. She had tried to do the same to her hand, but it seemed this "burn" would have to heal the natural way. It still stung: brought tears to her eyes when she touched it. 

Edda, seeing her sorry state, asked for a brief recounting of what happened - Eilif, with some quick thinking - explained that she tripped when she dropped the tray and the crystal shattered. This lie may cost her the new-found privilege of serving the royalty, but at least it would spare her life. Edda gave her the rest of the afternoon to recuperate, which for Eilif simply meant laying on her bed thinking. That man on the throne puzzled her: if Odin were dead and Thor were to relinquish the throne, as he seemed to have done, the next successor would be Loki. Was that Loki that she met in the throne room? He certainly matched every description. It occurred to her that in her eavesdropping she had heard that Loki was killed. If Loki had been killed, who would be next in line?

She laid back on top of her bed covers, gently trying to sooth her burn with touch alone. It wasn't enough by far, but it did help. Eventually her pondering led to drowsiness, compounded with the effort of healing, and she drifted into sleep.

_The smell of blood filled her nose and made her skin tingle with desire. She walked among dead soldiers on the battlefield, seeing many faces she thought she recognized. Some of these faces she even knew would die in the battle before the battle was even conceived of by men. She bent down and touched a still-squirming soldier, with no legs to speak of. Eilif leaned down and touched the boy on the shoulder, becoming momentarily shot with what can only be described as adrenaline as she took the rest of the life force away from him. Finally, his face knew peace, and she moved on._

_Gunshots fired all around her. A few eagles screamed from above the raucous battle. She seemed to not exist, though, as she never felt the bullets that seemed to sail through her body on the way to their targets. All she saw were the dying, all she smelled was despair and the faint metallic quality of the blood, the stink of the bodily fluids leaving the already dead. She needed to get to the recently shot, assuring them a swift passing if their deaths were inevitable, healing their scrapes if they would not be destined to die. Somehow she knew she had this choice to make: who lived and who died. She felt power coursing through her as she laid her hands on the next soldier..._

She shot up, body rigid like a tree trunk, eyes wide in the darkness. Eilif wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, distressed at how slick with sweat it was. Swinging her legs off the bed, she made no noise as she rose to make her way to her washbasin. This silence had become unnecessary of late, the majority of her fellow servants had died in the war the dark elves brought to Asgard. She could not say how she survived, and that haunted her. A candle lit, she stared at her white face in the mirror as the washbasin filled with icy water. Her face was still hot from dreaming, and she wished to rinse the sweat off herself.

These dreams had become more and more frequent in the last months, and she did not know their cause. She had gone to a seer about them, but he dismissed her as no more than a child with a nightmare. Perhaps his disrespect came from his regard of her as a servant, or as a woman. Regardless, she had no answers from him. 

Face thoroughly rinsed, she slipped into a tan canvas shift and put a light blue dress over that. Perhaps she could make her way to the small library: it had been used by the members of the household in the past but servants could use it too, unlike the Grand Library, which was solely for royal use. She took for granted that she would not get any more sleep that night, as in the past try as she might once she woke from the nightmares her head spun from all of her thoughts. 

Eilif set the candle she had been carrying onto a table beside a bookshelf of histories. She ran her fingers along the spines, searching for one that would be interesting enough to keep her entertained for the few more hours until she began the day's chores. Finally, she settled on, "Lineage of Buri and the first Aesir." Perhaps she would find out who that mystery man was who sat upon the throne. 

She shuddered, clenching her hand as she felt her burn once more. There were certain magics she never feared, such as her own healing, but on the whole she viewed magic as an entity to not be trusted; magic brought pain and the stench of death. She had a feeling the man who burned her would do the same. She flipped the pages of the book intently, looking for Odin's name. Finally, she found it. A couple expository pages on Odin himself, and from the various sketches she knew for a certainty that while she thought she had heard Odin speaking to Thor, the man she met there could never be he. She found the entry on Thor Odinsson and the account of his earning Mjolnir. 

Finally, she found what she had been looking for: the entry on Loki. Her eyes drank every word on the page: a brief account of his upbringing with Thor, his (supposed) betrayal of Thor out of sibling rivalry gone too far (even the accounting said that was only rumoured), his making a deal with the Chitauri to overpower Mitgard and the subsequent defeat by the "superheroes" there including Thor, ending with his being released by Thor from the dungeons so Loki could help defeat the Dark Elf Malekith. At the end of all these accounts was a sketch of his face, and she inexplicably raised her burned hand to her mouth to muffled her gasp.

Hearing a faint laugh from in front of her she looked up, and the man-who-was-not-Odin stepped from the shadows beyond her candle's light. "Have you discovered my identity yet?" He asked this and smirked as if he knew the answer, his eyes regarding her with a mix of disdain and pleasure, and his voice not even bothering to reign in the arrogance. His arms akimbo, he strolled lazily over to stand directly between her and her light source, looming over her like a giant. She would not tremble for this treacherous man.

"You are Loki," she announced, knowing well the vulnerable position in which he had her, but refusing to show any sign that she was intimidated. Men like him leapt at the chance to intimidate, to be feared. Men like him mistook fear for power. 

"Do you know me so well?" He whispered so softly she almost did not hear him. She looked up, startled, wondering if he had read her thoughts but not believing that to be within even his repertoire of powers. He took a tuft of her hair lightly in his fingers and mused, turning it this way and that in his hands. She would not pull away; he would not have that satisfaction. His face still held the same arrogant disdain, but it seemed that he was now lost in his thoughts, paying little mind to her. 

"AH!" She squealed as he suddenly yanked her up to standing by her hair. 

"Listen to me," he hissed, his face mere inches from hers, their lips mere inches from touching. The thought made her almost queasy. "If you so much as breathe a word of my identity..."

"...you'll kill me?" She finished for him, whether she was being stupid or defiant she could not tell. He let go of her to give her a swift slap across the cheek. 

"Insolent bitch!" He hissed, a little louder. "I am your king. You will bow to me."

She leapt at a guess. "Even when you are Odin?" She leaned toward him, daring him to slap her again. She swore he almost growled at her, but then he smirked.

"Yes; even when I am Odin." Eyes almost dancing he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to him, her nose almost smashing into his collarbone. She heard, and felt a little, his breath above her, and she could think of nothing to say.

He scared her, that much was certain. She hated unpredictability. She hated violence. This man reeked of death and battle, of chaos and instability. She did not wish to know him, to know his lies and his deceit, to feel his warmth along her and his breath in her hair.

She would not pull away, though; he would not have the satisfaction of knowing her fear.


	4. Of Kissing a Jotun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine surprises herself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little heated, but it does not get explicit.
> 
> Sorry to disappoint the ones (like me) who are waiting for the explicit stuff with anticipation!

She even smelled like winter, if winter had a smell. That clean scent of ice and snow with a little chill emanating from her made his breath catch in his throat. He almost heard her heart fluttering as she stood there, trying to not let any feeling show. He did hold power over her, that he knew. She feared what he would do. It had seemed as if the day before she shuddered at his magic, so perhaps she feared that. He reached his hand up to touch her hair, stroking it softly and feeling her stiffen under him.

"Am I so frightening?" He leaned down to whisper this in her ear, and lingered there to wait for her answer. He stared at her jaw under her ear, wanting to press his lips to it, wanting to know if she tasted like ice as well. He only waited, though, and staved off his own urges for the time being. When there came no word from her, he almost put his lips close enough to kiss the ear they taunted, "Well?"

Knowing he would not stop without an answer, knowing he would know if she lied, she only nodded. His hand caressed the length of her back from her shoulder to her hips, and came to rest on her waist. He could almost feel her cold skin under the thin fabric of her gown and chemise. He felt her muscles tighten all along the path his hand took, and he could not resist the urge to drop a kiss to the bared skin on her shoulder. She jerked, as if expecting it to hurt, but he did not make it hurt. He dropped gentle painless kisses from that spot on her shoulder up to her jaw, and down to her mouth. 

"What are you...?" She only had the chance to say that before his lips covered hers. She did not pull away, but she did not respond at first. He knew she was too surprised and frightened to resist his wants, but he did not expect her to eventually respond to his kiss. Slowly, his tongue nudged her lips apart, and carefully he flicked it into her mouth, savouring the taste of her: ice, exactly as he hoped. It added to her mystery, which added to her allure. Her entire body began to loosen as he continued to kiss her mouth, and her tongue began to respond. They kissed slowly, languished in it, and had no desire to speed up the act. Her hands stayed at her side, she neither desired him as he did her nor was she brave enough. He knew that, and he took advantage of her lack of courage, cradling her head in the hand not at her waist to deepen his kiss.

He felt himself change, felt himself become that other, the Jotun. He could not control it and did not want to stop kissing her. Perhaps with just a little nudge she could desire him as much as he desired her. Before he could even begin, though, she gave a squeal and pushed - shoved - him away from her. He stumbled back from the shock, and grabbed the arm of a chair to catch himself before he fell. She stared at him, wide-eyed as always, but with a faint look of horror. He knew what she saw: the monster, the Jotun. The deep blue of his skin probably startled her first, but the glowing red of his eyes may not have helped.

"What are you?" she exclaimed, and then put her hands to her mouth as if that could take back her question. She apparently feared punishment for her actions, and he did not blame her. He felt a bit of disappointment at not being able to continue, but for once did not mind. He would get to her in the end, one way or the other. For the moment, she would not hurt him or tell anyone the truth of him, he knew. She was too frightened. There could be no harm in telling her the truth, his truth.

He stepped toward her, and she stepped back. He stepped forward again, and she stepped back again, too far - her legs caught on the front of the chair she'd been previously sitting in, and she tumbled backward into it with a squeak. He smiled at that, finding it slightly endearing, and stepped toward her once more. "I am Jotun, and the adopted son of Odin."

"How...?" She stammered as he loomed over her. He grasped both the arms of her chair and leaned in as much as possible.

Loki did not know what she was going to ask. He simply frightened her into silence. "Enough," he whispered, to himself or to her, neither knew, and he changed his appearance back to the Loki everyone had known. "You know enough, for the moment." He pushed himself away from her and pushed himself up, feeling disgusted with his birth and with himself and with the way she looked at him as if he would kill her. Which, he remembered and laughed a little inside, he had said he would.

"You should go," he told her, and she seemed frozen to the spot. He waited to see if she would find her feet, and when she did not he just growled "Go!" and she sprang up and made for the door. "Oh, and Eilif," he called to her, and she almost stumbled as she froze in silent, stiff anticipation. He smiled at her slender back. "Await my summons on the morrow, Eilif Eisdotter, and please come posthaste when I call."

She nodded once, jerking, and then once again, more deeply. He waited to heighten her frustration. She was apparent waiting for a second dismissal. He smiled at her nerves, having recovered from his self-deprecation of minutes previously. 

"You may go," he commanded, and he watched her sweep from the room with as much dignity as she could muster in her frazzled state. He sat in the chair she had vacated; her chill still lingered there, and he savoured it. He felt no feelings for her beyond physical attraction, most likely. She delighted him with a mystery, and even moreso now that he kissed her. He would not dwell on it; he would simply take what he could when he could. She would fear him and respect him, perhaps feel some physical attraction for him in return, but it made no matter if he didn't. All that mattered was that he delighted in her. She did not really matter.

*

Eilif sprinted back to her chambers and sobbed once she slammed the door, letting go of whatever control she maintained to that point. Control? She laughed through her sobs at that word. What sort of control does one have if one just kisses any kind of monster? She knew she had given into his kisses, and thinking of them made her weak. They did not burn her as she expected they would. Instead they soothed her, every kiss sending a sort of calming wave over her until she simply gave in to him. She had the urge to wrap her arms around him and pull him closer, but she did not know if that were acceptable and she did not know if she even wanted to do so. Was he controlling her mind? Agh, the physical effects of mere thoughts of him on her body were too much for her, and she had to lay down and just let all the lust wash over her. She shuddered with desire for him, and was tortured by the thought that she would see him again. 

He frightened her, and he intrigued her. What was that blue thing she saw him become. He called himself Jotun, and she would have to find out exactly what that entailed. He did not feel as warm as most of the other people she came into close contact with. 

She did not know what she would do when he called for her...


	5. Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine faints.

"Heimdall, what do you see?" Odin's voice came from behind him as he stared out into the dark murky veils between worlds. Heimdall had been watching Tyr, the war commander, visit each of the nine realms in turn, and conference with their kings about how best to forge a peace that for so long did not exist between Asgard and the realms below it. Tyr met with mixed results, gratefulness from those who were mere casualties of war, but scorn from those who felt that Odin dishonoured them by sending a messenger in place of himself.

He told his king as much, and continued to watch Tyr's heated argument with the Jotun chief as Odin processed the information. Tyr had just been violently thrown out of the chief's palace, and called off his men before they attacked for the insolence. He wasn't hurt, and the war commander new better than to start a war when peace talks across the realms were occurring. Looking to be in a foul mood, Tyr led his men to the edge of a cliff, and nodded at the heavens. Heimdall, recognizing his cue, excused himself to his king and paced to his sword, laid hands to it and activated the bifrost, transporting Tyr and his men safely across. Tyr bowed low to Odin, and nodded to Heimdall, before excusing himself. He and Odin would speak in a more private capacity.

After they left, Heimdall explained, "He has just come from Jotunheim. Of all kings and chieftains unhappy with their perceived dishonour, King Thrym seems particularly displeased."

Odin only nodded. "Thank you, Heimdall. I would appreciate your continuing to watch how things progress. I intend to visit each of the realms that need a more..." A pause, "forceful presence."

Heimdall bowed. "As you command."

Odin held his gaze. "What of Mitgard? What happens there?"

"Your son has returned to it. He is settling with his woman and is in contact with the group of humans who thwarted Loki's attempts to conquer that world," Heimdall said, and he turned to look again at the stars. Thus, he missed Odin's obvious distaste at hearing the news, and only glanced with a nod when Odin took his leave. Alone again, Heimdall turned to close the bifrost. No Jotun would interrupt Asgardian slumber this night. 

*

"Eilif! Eilifff!" Eilif officially hated Edda's voice. Being the only serving girl still living, however, she was faced with the task of doing absolutely everything all the other serving girls were supposed to do. It had been a week since Loki had promised he would summon her, so she had hoped he may have forgotten. Apparently and annoyingly, fellow Asgardians were too afraid to apply for palace jobs, due to the whole dying off of most of the previous staff, so she had been way too busy to worry about her dilemma anyway.

Eilif sat up in her bed, exhausted from the amount of work that had been put on her. More screams of her name echoed, and she scrambled up and settled into her shift, purposefully taking as much time as she dared.

"There you are!" Edda exclaimed when Eilif jogged into the serving room. All foodstuffs and platters were brought here to be transported by footmen and maids to various points around the palace. "Odin wants you to attend him. Gods know why. Here, grab the platter." Eilif looked around herself, befuddled. There was not just one platter. Edda stomped her foot and huffed while she pointed almost impetuously. "There, girl. There!" Her entire body moved with the force of her pointing.

Eilif vaguely listened to Edda muttering about how she didn't need all this nonsense. The Yule feast would be in less than a week, celebrating Odin's riding across the sky to join the great hunt. There was much to prepare and barely anyone to help. Eilif would be one of the few, the brave, the serving wenches at Yule. While Edda fussed, Eilif amused herself at the thought of Loki riding across the sky and trying to look like he enjoys it.

Already she felt that the day would be a huge hassle, and she had not even gone to see Loki yet. Perhaps she could drop and shatter some more glass and get the day off to sleep. That would be nice. She mused these things as Edda haphazardly began setting foods and plates on the tray Eilif picked up. By the time Edda was finished, the tray was so heavy Eilif had to shift it several times to be able to carry it properly, and finally decided that her hip with be a decent additional platform. She nearly allowed herself to be shoved out the door (not quite "shoved" as she would well have dropped her burden) and carried herself with quiet dignity to her destination, which was apparently this time the Grand Library. She had only ever been in the room to dust, but with Loki's summons she may be there for quite a while. Perhaps she could even snag a book or two. There were many more there than were allowed in the Small Library.

Eilif walked into the library, set her tray on a bare table meant for it, and stood by the entrance to await further instructions. Edda apparently required this of her, there were no other maids to wait on the king, even though Eilif would have loved to leave while Loki/Odin was distracted. He looked to be poring over maps with several other men. She recognized one as Tyr, the war commander, but the other seven were unknown to her. She stood there long enough to make her feet hurt, and she started shifting her weight from one to the other to ease the pain. It would not do for a serving girl to sit in the presence of so many important men, even if it caused her pain.

Finally, they all stood and said their farewells, and Eilif had to keep from breathing a loud sigh of relief. Loki would probably stay behind, especially upon spotting her, but after what happened a week ago she did not feel much need to stand in his presence. When the eight men brushed past her, the stench was overwhelming. They never spared her a glance, and she managed to stay upright long enough for all to exit. When the door closed behind the last man, Eilif had to sit in the nearest chair, afraid she might faint. She was that dizzy. 

She saw through her glazed vision that Loki had changed from Odin back to himself, and strode toward her briskly. "What has happened to you?"

She felt herself open her mouth, heard the words she said, but did not feel like she said them. "The stench of death. Six men will die the deaths of soldiers when Barri runs red." Then all went black, and what she knew next was a hard grip shaking her shoulder and a glass of water being pressed to her lips.

She drank gratefully, unable to move for her limbs felt made of lead, and as her vision cleared she faced the startlingly close face of Loki. It almost felt like he peered into her soul with those piercing green eyes. She sucked in breath, wondering if he planned on kissing her again, but he simply whispered, "You have some explaining to do, Eilif Eisdotter." Eilif took the water glass from his hand and downed the rest of the contents, feeling the refreshing ice move down her throat. 

"Wh-what?" 

He stood and crossed his arms imperiously. "Do you remember what happened? What you did? What you said?" He demanded all these answers of her.

She gazed at her lap. "I...suppose I remember...how long did I sleep?"

Loki brushed his hand to the side as if that made no difference to anything. "Not long. Minutes, perhaps." His eyes widened as he bent to catch her eyes with his, and he said softly, almost cajolingly, "You said 'six men will die when Barri runs red.' Why did you say that?"

His face too close, her heart started fluttering a bit. Perhaps out of nerves at his interrogation, perhaps out of something else entirely. She thought, hard, about what happened. "I smelled...blood. I smelled death. I do not know how or why I said a number or a setting, but both are probably true." 

He tilted his head and leaned in a little closer. "Do you mean you have made this sort of prophecy before?" 

He waited, silent, while she thought about what she would say. She knew the answer was yes, but did she want him to know? 

_Fire. Death. "Freak!" People yelled at her from all sides as those they loved died, just as she said they would. They tried to put torches to her skin, but she would not burn. She simply stood there and cried, eight years old with no understanding as to what happened to her. She ran to her mother, but was shoved forcibly away from the house by her father. "Eilif, go! You bring death upon this place!" "I'm sorry, papa! I did not mean to!" Eilif screamed, but it was no use, and a giant man she did not know picked her up by the waist and carried her to the edge of the city. He set her down outside the gate, gently, and explained, "You cannot return, no matter what. Do you understand? You must find a new home. You must find a new life." He patted down her white hair awkwardly with the hand of a giant. All she could do was nod and silently cry. The man fumbled with his belt purse, and handed her a small parcel. "Enough for a week, if you eat sparingly. Please live, Eilif Eisdotter." She looked up at him with stinging eyes. "Do I know you? I am not Eisdotter, though." She never knew why that mattered. As far as her parents were concerned, she was nobody's daughter now. He shook his head sadly, and stood to tower over her. "Go. Tell the next town you are an orphan. If they will not shelter you, just move on to the next. Do not lose hope." He turned and walked back into the fiery city, and when he was inside the gates all she felt able to do was collapse on the ground and cry._

She felt the tears stinging her eyes, and realized Loki still waited for her answer. All she did was nod. If she spoke she would surely sob. 

"How do you know?" He asked this gently, and she thought she heard concern touching his voice. 

That was too much. "I always know!" Her voice broke on a sob, and she dragged in ragged breaths as she felt the pain of her face contorting to let her grief show. She had not cried about this in so long. In face, she had pushed it so far to the back of her mind that it almost shocked her to remember it so vividly. Too racked by her own emotions, she forgot to be surprised when arms went around her to provide some comfort. They were tentative and awkward, as if Loki knew what to do but was more than reluctant to do it. She just sobbed her feelings into his shoulder, getting the clothing a bit damp. 

Eventually, she calmed down and her breathing became more even. Aware that he held her more tightly than before, she let herself calm down inside what protection his arms offered. His hands stroked her hair softly, and she found this strangely comforting. "I'm sorry," she mumbled eventually, and felt the hand stop. It started again a moment later. 

She thought Loki would remain silent, but then he said, "Why do you cry?"

Eilif shrugged. "A memory," she said as if that would make the subject go away entirely.

"A memory of death?"

She nodded to his neck, and rested her head. "The first prediction I ever made. My village burned almost to the ground. I saw every death before it happened, and I was exiled." She never had shared that with any one, and should probably not share it with someone she barely knew or trusted. He did listen to her cry, though. Gods know how long they sat like that.

He was silent for a moment, and then asked, "If you were not there, but could see a person through a window or some such thing, could you predict specifically if he would die? Do you have to be present?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I've never tried doing something like that before."

"Would you be willing to try?" She heard the hope in his voice, and wondered why he asked her permission instead of simply intimidating her. 

"Not right now." She gulped, and shook her head. "I could not bear it. Please do not ask it of me." 

He held her away from him and stared into her eyes. She was not sure what he saw there, but he seemed to accept it. "Could you do it if I ask you tomorrow?" 

She considered this, hard. He seemed in earnest. "Perhaps, but you will have to tell me why before I will."

He kissed her then, a soft, passionate kiss. One that was earnest and relieved and gentle all at once. It was so unlike their previous kiss that when his lips left hers she was quite breathless. "Why...?" She began to ask, but he put a finger to her lips to shush her and gave her a secret smile.

"I had never thought to wonder what it would be like to make love to a Valkyrie," he murmured, and stood. She just gaped at him, not sure what part of that statement confused and distressed her more: the "make love" part or the "Valkyrie" part. 

He held his hand out to her. "Come, let me show you something." Still dazed, she took the proffered hand, and allowed him to help her stand and lead her deeper into the library. 

She had no choice but to follow. What an interesting day this turned out to be...


	6. What She Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine asks too many questions.

"May I ask you something?" Eilif asked Loki as he led her to his map-covered table.

He flashed her a strange smile, as if he were absolutely preparing to lie to her, and answered, "You may ask." 

She tilted her head at him. Shook it once, twice, three times, because that wasn't at all superfluous, and said to him, "I would rather you either tell me a truth or say you cannot say. Do not lie to me. I've lied already more than once for you." She had, in truth, lied to Edda about where she'd been and who she'd been with the week before. Odin? No, Loki. She dared not say that to Edda, though.

His smile faltered. He tried to pierce her with his green eyes but she would not be punctured. She stood with her arms crossed and saw no other way to ask: "Where is Odin?" 

Now his smile vanished completely, and he stepped toward her like a cat stalking his prey. "Why would you ask that?" 

She stuck her lower lip out and blew upward, almost to seem nonchalant. He tried to intimidate her, but, "I think we're past that point, don't you?" She asked him sardonically, and raised an eyebrow. Loki deflated, and his shoulders hunched, making him look oddly like a kitten.

Eilif chuckled at the thought, and Loki looked perplexed at the chuckle. Silence between them lasted for a minute or more as they studied each other, and finally Loki said, "Odinsleep, stored safely away where no one can find him." He leaned against the edge of the map table, his hands on his thighs, and sighed as he stared into his lap.

"So he's not dead?" 

Loki laughed, no trace of amusement. "He can't be killed by someone like me."

Eilif tilted her head and pondered his answer. Someone like... "a Jotun?" Another bitter laugh gave her the truth of her words. He could not meet her eyes. Time for one last question, just to ruin the mood entirely. "Why are you doing this? What are you doing as Odin?"

He slammed a fist to the table, and made her jump. "You are so impertinent!" He yelled at her. In a bit of shock, she found herself shaking at his sudden anger. Despite this, though, she stepped toward him on silent, slippered feet. She reached up to touch his face but dropped her hand before it reached. 

She wanted to say "I am your friend" or ask why he was so angry, but she thought that might be met with sarcasm. Instead she said, "Please, tell me _some_ thing."

She noticed his grip on the table behind him had become fierce, so much so she was surprised he didn't leave marks. Finally, he said, "I cannot..."

"Just part," she interrupted, and let out a breath. "Just tell me part of it. What are you planning?" 

His face worked, twitched a tiny bit, and quick as a flash he was behind her. He dug his nails into the flesh on her neck and pulled her back against him. He pressed her to walk forward toward the table, and when they arrived there he leaned her over the large map. A map of the Nine Worlds, and 'x's on half of them with names she did not know beside. The name, "Thor," was written on Mitgard, but otherwise the world was left alone. 

"This," he hissed into her ear, and his finger drew a line from Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, through Asgard, through Alfheim and Vanaheim, down the Bifrost through Nidavellir to Midgard, Svartalfheim, Muspelheim, Jotunheim, and finally down to Niflheim where his finger stayed. "I am working to unite all these worlds. I work to make the Nine Worlds equal, to stop the Aesir and Asynjur from ruling all other races as gods." He shook her practically with each over-pronounced consonant, and that as opposed to his pronouncement was primarily the reason her head spun.

"Will you _stop_?" She snapped at him, and he stepped back abruptly so she could turn and face him. She glared at him, and he glared at her. "I don't know why that was so hard," she bit off, massaging a neck still stiff from his grip. She probably imagined that he looked the teensiest bit contrite at hurting her. "Why do you need Odin in Odinsleep to do it? It doesn't sound like so bad a thing."

"I've told you all I care to," he told her, and as he did he looked her straight in the eye, completely leveling with her. This time Eilif did put her hand to his cheek, the same hand that had previously been massaging her ache.

"Okay," she whispered, and nodded. To that, he nodded and grabbed her wrist. Immediately as he did that, he changed, became the Jotun. She just studied him, stared at his face. She had yet to have a chance to research the Jotun, so she had to glean all she could from his appearance. 

His skin had turned blue, but not the blue like the sea or like the sky. It was a different, richer blue. Perhaps the richness of berries? Moreso. The same blue touched his lips and his hands, his entire body probably. His hair looked an even darker black, sleeker. His eyes glowed red, she saw until he closed them against the touch of her hand. She tried to read the marks on his forehead, and his cheeks had marks as if his face were slightly pinched. Caressing it with her thumb, she found his cheek smooth and chilled. 

Eilif moved her hand to travel up Loki's cheek, she gingerly touched his hairline and forehead, and moved her hand back down to run over his ear and his jaw, pausing there once more. All of his skin felt the same, smooth and cold. "Can you control when you change?" She asked him this in a whisper.

He nodded his head and turned his lips into her palm, making her shiver as he kissed it. "Mostly," he said into her hand.

"Except when I touch you," she finished for him, and he opened his red glowing eyes and smiled at her, his secret smile she had a feeling was just for her. She no longer flinched at the sight of those eyes, she had gotten used to seeing them in her dreams, day and night.

He must have seen something in them, though, because he next said, "Are you afraid of the Jotun?" 

Her eyes dropped to her feet. Well, his waist. Her face didn't have quite the range of motion to turn that far down. close as it noticeably was to his. She did not think she was afraid. She did not even think she had any fear. She felt more of an unease about it. "No," she told him finally, and looked up into his eyes again.

He seemed all skeptic, and she shook her head adamantly. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, forcing conviction in her voice. 

He seemed to believe her, and tipped his head forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes, and kissed him. Maybe she actually did trust him. She had not known him that long, never trusted any one, really, but something in him made her feel she could at least believe what he told her. 

She allowed herself to sink into the kiss, now believing the truth, his truth. She had a feeling that she was the only one he told about anything. She still did not know all of the truth, but she knew more of it than any one else. She trusted that. 

***

His tongue twined with hers, his hands cradled the back of her head, and finally he felt the warmth of being held. Loki missed the intimacy of being held, and perhaps this was growing into more than just using her for his pleasure. Perhaps this was what he needed. Perhaps he was foolish. He did not know, but he felt the sudden urge to look upon her.

He opened his eyes, and did not push her away when he saw what it was he kissed. Her skin had become translucent, shiny, perhaps glassy, and he saw her skull underneath. He saw her eyelids, closed, and beyond them the blackness inside the sockets. His eyes darted to the side and he saw the joints in her wrists. She felt colder, if at all possible, and her hair seemed clear as fishing line. 

He had wondered when he would see this side of her. There was not much literature on Valkyries, but he did find a rare eye-witness account of what they might look like in their battlefield form, when their emotions were heightened. He smiled into her mouth at the thought that he heightened her emotions, and to see if he could push her skin to translucent entirely he turned them around and pushed her back against the table. The map crinkled under her back, and he slid her along the smooth wood until he would lie on top of her. She sighed loudly into his mouth, and he caressed her shoulders. His hand moved from her neck to her collarbone, from her collarbone to the top part of her left breast, and he felt more than heard her gasp.

He opened his eyes again. Almost. She was almost completely in her true form. He was so close to touching her as deeply as she had already touched him more than once. He moved his hand to cup her entire breast fully, and he squeezed lightly, hearing a gasp and then feeling...

He felt an odd pull from his chest. His sternum felt tight, as if his muscles there had cramped. A slow change, he barely noticed the feeling was slowly getting worse. His lungs were being drained and prevented from pulling in more air, his heart seemed to be getting squeezed tighter and tighter.

Finally, when he realized what was really happening, he shoved himself off of her with such frantic force he stumbled back to the floor. He lay on his back, gasping, recovering, his thoughts scrambling to keep up with his body's reaction. No first-hand accounts on kissing a Valkyrie, making love to one, and now he understood why.

When his breath began to calm considerably, he turned his eyes to look back at the table, where Eilif sat staring at him. She seemed quite mortified, and quite confused as if she weren't sure what reason she could have to be mortified. He turned what he hoped was a charming smile on her. "Well, that was quite exciting," he said in a low voice, and boosted himself onto his elbows.

"What happened?" Her voice, like his but, he suspected, for slightly different reasons, sounded husky. He enjoyed this effect he had on her. He smiled lazily, and looked at his hands. Still blue. Fixed. Now he looked like himself, and he slowly stood up. 

He strode to a bookshelf, undaunted by her powers. She was unaware what she probably was, which was very odd to him. She knew her gifts, and she knew she looked different than other people. Funny that she knew nothing else.

"It's probably time you know who you are," he said behind his shoulder, and plucked a book off the shelf to bring back to her. He _really_ looked forward to her reaction.


	7. Deadly Lust (or Lusty Death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine discovers herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit risque. I know you can handle it, though. Time to change the rating on the fic...

He strode over to her with the book, thumbing through it diligently. Finally, he found what he looked for, and handed the open book to her. She stared at it, not quite sure what she was looking for. Loki laughed at her confusion, locked the door (as he became way too distracted by her to usually do), and strode over to pluck the book from her hands again.

"Look," he pointed at the family tree. "There's Herja, a goddess of war who saw a need to create beings to do her bidding. She could not control the battle thirsted for by humans, but she was not omnipotent. Her purpose was to choose who would die in battle, and to choose who would enter Valhalla. She needed beings to walk through battlefields and see who was to be killed, to send them to a better haven."

Eilif listened with rapt attention and stared at his finger. She wondered where this explanation led. What did he mean by learning who she is? She became especially captivated when he moved his finger down a line.

"She created the Valkyrie. There are thirteen alive at any one time, but she only started out with six: Brynhilda, a shieldmaiden; Hilda, who could revive the dead if she so chose; Skeggöld, the axe-wielder; Reginlief; Hrist, causer of earthquakes; lastly, Göndul, who was also a wizard. They were all female, and all intended to be virgins so as to not bias them in their choosing. Of course, that did not always work, as evidenced by the fact of your existence." He paused, presumably to let her take it in. Eilif, at that moment, could barely remember how to breathe. She slowly let out a breath and nodded for him to continue. 

He set the open book on the table, finger still on the page, and put his now-free arm around her waist, resting his hand on her hip in an intimate gesture. Another thing that made her breath hitch in her throat. Loki smiled and kissed her cheek. "Reginlief begot Sigurd, who begot Hrund, who begot Herja. Herja fell in love with Balder, and they begot Eir." 

"Eir?" Eilif muttered in a daze and watched his finger move all the way down the family tree. Finally, it paused over a name. Eilif gulped, guessing at the name underneath. She couldn't bring herself to think about it, though. She just happened to be a scared little girl who grew up a little and worked in a palace.

Loki waited for her to say more, but when she didn't he continued, "Balder happened to have healing magic, so Eir was born a Valkyrie who could heal. Eir fell in love with a minor beastie and begot..." He moved his finger, Eilif read her own name, and he held her fast as she became light-headed.

Her reaction predictable, he repositioned her so he could cradle her in his arms and carried her back over to her original chair. Loki stroked her hair and waited for her to catch her breath. He chuckled, enjoying her shock immensely. Not able to help himself, he kissed her brow once, twice, again, and again. She turned her face up and their lips met, again and again and again. He loved the icy taste of her, and she drank of him like he nourished her.

He felt that tug at his heart again, quicker this time, and broke the kiss. He did not pull away completely but he leaned back enough that he could see the black of her eye sockets. The Valkyrie lingered longer, and he licked his lips. What a pair they made. "It's happening more quickly," he whispered.

"Wha," for a second she lost breath. "What's happening?"

"I think," he said, "that like me, you change into your true form with your heightened emotions." 

She searched his eyes, and closed her own. "My true form?" 

"The Valkyrie," he answered, and smiled once more. Her Valkyrie had faded, as his Jotun did not, and he knew he could force it to return. He left her for a second, walking over to a small mirror that hung on the wall. He took it down and returned to her, moving slowly. She was startled enough by his words. He didn't need to startle her with his magic, too. 

"I'll show you," he told her, and enveloped her once more in a deep embrace and a kiss. More urgent this time, Loki dug one hang in her hair and cupped one breast in the other, and despite her shock she responded to him. He kept his eyes open to watch her skin fade into translucence, and slowly his hand seemed to be hovering over her skull on an invisible plane. He felt the tug on his lungs, but he did not wish to stop. Loki had a need to push her to the brink, and so he would need to push himself to his very physical limits. Now that he knew what would happen, he understood more how to control himself.

Loki moved his lips down from hers to her chin, to her neck. He suckled her and bit her, and smiled as he felt his chest tighten further in her passion. He kissed the lining of her dress, just above her bosom, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair with one hand. At the hard pull on his scalp, Loki ripped her dress off her chest with one switch movement and continued kissing only the top of her breasts, which heaved. His chin brushed one nipple, one hard bud. He moved his hands softly down her sides, pushing her dress down, his hands rested on her bare hips. 

She gasped, and he felt his feet and hands going numb as she slowed his heart. He had to pushed her just a little further. He knew he could not continue on much longer, though, so he quickly took that bud into his mouth and suckled her. He tickled her with his tongue and felt his lungs fail. He bit down and felt what seemed like his heart wrenching. 

He had to stop then. He did not know if he could be killed by her, but he didn't want to find out. Well, he didn't want to at that moment, anyway. He pulled away and hacked. He handed her the mirror just before he had to step back to shake out his arms and legs; he could barely feel them. He beat his chest while he coughed, hoping to increase his circulation. 

When he recovered, which didn't take long, he looked up at her as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin colour was slowly coming back, but she could not have missed her appearance before she started recovering. She was touching her face, and then running her fingers through her fishing line hair. He walked to her and admired her entire abdomen as it became more visible. Her nipples were still peaks, one distinctly pinker than the other, and she seemed to have forgotten her dress entirely. Upon looking down to where he'd pushed it, he spotted a small tuft of white pubic hair. 

He didn't know how to do anything about that, or his erection, since he almost died just suckling her nipple. Perhaps he could figure it out. She cleared her throat, and he quickly looked up to her face. Eilif caught him staring. He smiled devilishly at her and raised an eyebrow.

She still digested her own appearance in her mind, but she put the mirror down as she studied his face. He looked so different as the Jotun, even with his same grin as when he masked his true self. She did not understand so many things. He had the answers, but she did not know where to begin.

The basics, she supposed. "What exactly is a Valkyrie?"

"Ehm," he said, "May I sit?" 

At the abrupt question, she just nodded. She did not expect him to pick her up and sit down under her. She landed on his lap with a high-pitched "Oof!" He chuckled and circled her small waist with his hands. It was not that they were particularly big, but rather that her waist was almost bone-thin. He smiled again at his own inside joke. She simply waited.

"A Valkyrie, Eilif Eisdotter, is a warlike maiden who attends to battles to choose what soldiers will go to Valhalla and what soldiers will go to Folkvangr. When they are not attending battles, they serve mead to the Valhalla warriors."

"And I'm not doing that because..."

Loki kissed her hair. "I surmise that Eir abandoned you after Balder was killed. She probably thought you would not inherit any of her traits. Foolish of her, really. Valkyries inherit from the mother, or they would have died out long ago. Since you're part Asynjur, your Valkyrie came a little late."

"Oh." A long silence, in which Loki simply kept his face buried in her white hair. The coolness of her refreshed him. "Where's my mother?"

A shrug. "Nobody knows."

"My father's dead?"

Loki smiled, remembering his own cleverness on that particular occasion. "I may have been responsible."

She craned her neck to look into his eyes, and he knew they danced. He could not hide the mirth. He had hated Balder. "You could at least _look_ apologetic," she scolded, and he laughed. She just scowled, unable to feel sorrow for a parent she never knew existed. As a matter of principle, though...

"My appearance...?" 

"I assume, like myself, you turn to your Valkyrie when your emotions are heightened," he said, and kissed her temple softly. He knew very well that he was the first and only person who ever did that to her. She blushed, and her snow white cheeks became a very faint pink. 

"Is that why you pushed me away?" 

Loki thought for a moment. How would he present this so she wouldn't be too upset or confused? "Well, when I kiss you, it...slows me down."

"Slows you...?"

"My organs," he continued, "and I'm not sure which one is the first to be slowed. As we get heated, and you're more passionate, my heart slows."

"So I'm...I'm killing you?" She stumbled over her words, and he made sure to softly kiss her as he murmured an assent. She was quieter than before, and he did not know what she thought. He just wanted to distract her, make her feel a little better. He moved one hand up to rest in her cleavage and pulled her tighter to him. 

"I can handle it," he told her, "I'm not exactly ordinary." He nibbled at her earlobe, and felt the breath leave his own lungs instead of hers. It was starting to get way easier to make her excited. "You can control it. I can teach you," he whispered against her skin, and felt himself return to normal in her curiosity.

"How?"

"Well," he thought, "first we have to figure out what you can do. Do you remember when I asked you if you could specifically tell me who lived out of the group?" 

She nodded, still speechless.

He said, "That will help us find out what you can do exactly."

"And it will help me control myself?" She was skeptical, and he loved that about her.

He loved even more how his lungs suddenly tightened shut when he stuck the hand still on her waist down into her dress. He played with her thatch of hair idly, and drew ragged breaths as he felt a light moisture between her legs. His ragged breaths were slightly from lust and more because he was struggling to breath. "Can you stop?" He gasped.

She moaned and rolled her head back against his shoulder as his hand dug deeper. "I don't..." 

"Breathe. Try. Close your eyes...try to find the Valkyrie. You're..becom...ing Her."

He could not speak any more, but he knew she tried to do what he said. As he played with her she breathed and he felt himself breathing a little better. Then a little more. "You're doing it," he whispered, and began to knead her breasts, one after the other, with the hand not playing with her privates. 

Damn. He'd distracted her, and ended up suffocating himself. "Ack," he hacked, and she yelped and sprung off of him. She looked all bone now as she fell to the floor and stared at him. An interesting sight, he thought, as he held his hand to his neck and gulped deep breaths. 

She was probably terrified of herself now. Her heightened emotions were making the air shimmer around herself, and Loki had to order her to close her eyes and try to control it. He knew he would end up dead if she did not, her fear was that palpable.


End file.
